I’m looking at myself in the mirror before I get in the shower. I touch my face gently, self-consciously,
I feel my skin, it’s finally starting to heal from the too many self inflicted punches.
I start to remember the dreams I have had since I was fourteen. The dreams of saying how I feel. Dreaming of people understanding. Dreams of not hiding the truth. Dreams of my emotions exploding in public. Dreams where I am packed away, as everyone I once knew turns around, scared of making eye contact with a crazy girl.
I think of the people who have called me crazy when I disagreed with them, when I spoke against them, when I made it clear that yes, I do have a voice.
I think of how we try to abolish each other with craziness. How we reduce each other to a word, as if our worth is define by how crazy we are. …show more content…
I wonder what my diagnosis would be if I was living in the Victorian area. Would it be paranoia? Body dysmorphia? Depression and anxiety? An eating disorder? Being unhappy in marriage? Speaking too loudly or too much? Being addicted to